Fate
by purple-papoose
Summary: A look through Lord Voldemort's eyes of the fateful Halloween night at Godrics Hallow.. "There is no good or evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it." plz r&r.


A/N : I don't own anything. Just my own twisted imagination.  
It gets better second half onwards. I promise..

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FATE  
Halloween night.

Godric's Hallow. On the wet and windy night He advanced towards the end of his rival. No, his_ supposed_ rival. The filthy muggle town was filled with decorations for Halloween – shops covered with huge paper spiders, bats, leering pumpkins, trolls- the trademarks of imagination, as if the talentless muggles had the ability to recognize the magical creatures. It was fanciful imagination which came alive only on this one day and lay dormant the rest. Muggles. The creatures responsible for filling his wizarding world full of half-bloods. Including this supposed dangerous rival of his. Soon He, the heir of the most powerful and pure line in the wizarding world, would clear the wizarding world of the Half-bloods. Starting with the boy.

He walked with his usual sense of power with complete focus. His sense of rightness was present as it always was on these occasions. He felt nothing for the weaker souls. They were anyway worth nothing. Too weak to seize power. Righteousness was weakness. He detested weak people like Potter, the heir of an old and powerful pureblood family- the Potters- with wealth and influence, who had the talent and capability, had married beneath him. He married a mudblood. Potter who easily could have been his right hand, right next to Malfoy, was living in this despicable village alongside muggles. All he could feel was scorn for him. Wizards like Potter did not deserve to be alive. They were a waste of space.

He saw two muggle boys dressed as pumpkins come running towards him. No doubt coming to beg for treats. As one of the kids got close enough to get a better view of him under the cloak, he saw the kids smile falter, could smell the fear roll off him and the desire to kill rose. But the feeling, the desperation to triumph over the threat to him was greater than this trivial desire to end the muggle boy's life. This could wait. Perhaps taking this boys life could be the reward for eliminating The Threat.

As he moved to a new street, his destination was visible with the Fidelius Charm broken. Fools to trust their friends. Fools to even have friends. Friendship was a waste which was why he operated alone. Power was everything. The best kind of power was holding someone else's life in ones hands. Now Pettigrew, weak though he was, was cleverer than Potter or Black. Pettigrew knew how to seize power. He knew that power meant more than trivial, useless things such as friendship which was why he betrayed his so- called best friends. All that was needed for people to flock to you was power. Like his faithful Death Eaters.

He advanced, soundless and deadly. Like death. They had not even drawn their curtains. Emotional fools. He could see them clearly in their tiny sitting room. He could see the tall, black haired man with glasses making colored puffs of smoke erupt from his wand to entertain the child. The child was laughing and trying to catch the smoke. He sneered, it was emotional foolishness, this picture of joy. A door opened, the mudblood mother entered saying something he could not hear, the father handed her the son. Her dark red hair fell over her face. So this was the woman, the mudblood, Snape desired. How uncharacteristic it was for Snape to beg for someone else's life. Especially this tramp's. He, Lord Voldemort, made him realize how foolish it was to lust after her. After all there were far more desirable pureblooded witches who lusted for the power Snape possessed. Power. It was power that outstripped even Lust. Dumbledore's favourite solution- Love always got killed by Power.

Looking at the family he felt himself drawn back into the past. Into a whirlpool of emotions that he considered were for the weaker souls. That were beneath him. He as a baby had no love. No parents. His childhood had no doting parent spending time for his amusement. His mother did not love him enough to stay alive after birthing him. And mothers are supposed to be the beacons of love. She was weak. His father did not love him, he did not even claim him. Did not even associate his name with him. Where was the almighty power of love when his father did not even come to see him, to even bother whether he was alive or dead. His father had not loved his mother at all which was why he abandoned them.

For a moment, just a moment, he was little Tom again. He had hoped and prayed like all other orphans for loving foster parents to take him away. For his long lost father to take him away. Whenever a couple came looking to adopt he would spruce himself up hoping to get selected. He was just a boy looking for love. Until that fateful day he tasted power.

His first taste of power was enough to convince him that it was above love. Power let him take revenge against people who annoyed him. Power had revenge, it had control- the things love did not have. Power made him different from the common children. It gave magic. Power made him special, even among the magical children.

But yet as he saw the happy scene in front of him, he felt an alien feeling well inside feeling was somewhat like the feeling he had gotten one of the orphans had gotten a home and not him.

Longing. The feeling was longing for love.

He felt longing for the sickening scene in front of him. The Potters were aware of the danger their son had got them into and yet they loved him unconditionally.

But he ruthlessly squashed it. Power did not allow weaker emotions to reside. The fact that this family made him get into the past, into emotions he did not want, filled him with cold fury. This family had shattered his self control, his emotions momentarily.

Once again he was filled with the desire to kill. Kill, not only the brat but the whole family which dragged him into the past. With murder o his mind he opened the gate. It creaked.

James Potter heard it and ran into stop him wandless. This was ease, too easy. The foolish man yelled to his wife to run and hide. As if anyone could hide from him, Lord Voldemort. James Potter tried to hold him off. Foolish but brave. Ah, bravery he admired. But all James Potter deserved was death not admiration which he delivered immediately. Avada Kedavara.

He climbed the steps towards Lily Potter. With his mind clear now he thought for a fleeting second maybe he could spare her, _if_ she was sensible. She did not even take her wand with her. How silly and thoughtless it was to leave your weapon even for a second. Trust. Trust in their friends led to their downfall. Love bred trust. Look where trust got them.

He pushed aside the barricades with a lazy flick of his wand. And there she stood with the boy in her arms. As she saw him she dropped the boy into his cot and spread her arms wide shielding her son. She began to beg and plead him to take her life instead, to have mercy. For snape's sake he warned her thrice. She did not waver and as the result she dropped like her husband. Pity she could have saved herself. He had given her something he never gave others. A chance. A chance to save herself. All for Snape: loyalty. Loyalty he thought deserved to be rewarded. Too bad she was stupid enough to throw away her chance. But then she _was_ a mudblood.

The child did not cry. Funny how the child reminded him of himself. He as a baby also never cried. The child looked up to his face with a kind of a bright interest, perhaps thinking he was his father come to make more pretty lights.

He pointed his wand carefully at the boy's face. He wanted to see it happen. The destruction of this one, inexplicable danger. Looking into the child's bright green eyes he felt a pang. Such wide interested eyes. The eyes captured his interest. He saw himself in the child just without the desire for power though. But the desire of power could be honed. He felt himself drawn towards the child. He felt the pang intensify. Was it remorse? Was it regret? Before he could prod his feelings further, the boy started to cry.  
And his cold fury came rushing back. He had never been able to stomach the little one's whinning at the orphanage. And with the absence of his earlier feelings, with the sense of rightness, already tasting his triumph, he carefully uttered the words.

Avada Kedavara.

And then there was only pain.

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plz review..pretty plz with a cherry on top.  
Can be continued if the readers want it so plz leave a review and tell me.

cheers.


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